


Wake Up Call

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Fictober 2019 [30]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bodyswap, M/M, because I cant stop writing around that scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: The morning after (before the rest of their lives).
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Fictober 2019 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540126
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	Wake Up Call

**Author's Note:**

> For fictober day thirty: “I’m with you, you know that.”

The morning after was strange for a number of reasons, not the least of which had to do with Aziraphale waking up in quite the wrong body. He wasn’t used to sleep to begin with, and so when he rose to wakefulness, still pleasantly drowsy with the last vestiges of slumber, he was quite disconcerted to find that when he stretched himself, his limbs did not behave quite as he expected. Crowley’s body was lankier and lighter than his, more muscular, and it moved differently, grounding him back in reality sooner than he would have liked. He sat up in bed and examined the hands, turning them over so as to see the palms as well as the backs, taking in the neatly trimmed fingernails and occasional faint freckle. These were Crowley’s hands. Hands that, just last night, they’d used to…

Aziraphale blushed and then startled as the form beside him shifted, groaning and stretching. “Angel?” It sounded odd in his own voice. “What are you doing up?”

“It’s morning,” he chided, blinking and putting a hand to his throat. “I say. That is going to take a moment to get used to.”

Under a lump of blankets, one blue eye popped open to peer at him, and then Crowley emerged, his movements caught somewhere between his own grace and Aziraphale’s solidity. He squinted. “Is that really what I look like in the morning?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen you in the morning.”

“Sure you have. I’ve camped over at your place before.”

“Yes, but never in a bed.”

Crowley gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Aziraphale didn’t have a bed, so when Crowley wanted to nap it was usually on the sofa. Aziraphale ran his fingers self-consciously through his hair. “Does it look bad?”

“I don’t know how to answer that without sounding self-serving.”

Aziraphale suppressed a smile. “Quite right.” He pulled the bedsheets up a little higher, casting around the room for his clothes, discarded in haste the night before. “Ah…”

“Wardrobe’s over there, angel.” Crowley gestured towards it, and Aziraphale eyed it from across the room, his gaze flicking down to his currently covered but definitely bare body. At the hesitation, Crowley rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.” Which was fair enough. Aziraphale slipped out of bed, padding across the floor to the wardrobe.

As he flicked through the options, he said, “I was under the impression you preferred to miracle up your clothes.”

“Sure.” Crowley pushed back the covers, and even though it was Aziraphale’s own body, the angel blushed scarlet when he caught a glimpse, hurriedly averting his gaze. “Mostly I do. It’s the look of the thing. It’d look weird if I didn’t have clothes at my flat.”

“No one else would be looking.”

“Semantics.” Crowley waved a hand, stooping to collect Aziraphale’s clothes from the floor and pulling them on. “We’re all set on the plan, then?”

“Stay in each other’s bodies until Heaven and Hell inevitably try to punish us. It’s not much of a plan.”

“Well, better than nothing.”

Aziraphale began dressing too. His throat felt a little tight, and he wasn’t sure if it was him or the body. He swallowed hard. “You’re sure you want to do this? I know Hell can be quite rough, but I think you might be surprised just how vicious Heaven can-“

“Aziraphale.” Crowley cut him off with a hand on Aziraphale’s forearm. Aziraphale looked up. He didn’t think he would ever get used to staring into his own eyes. Particularly when it was so clearly Crowley staring back out. “I’m with you. You know that. You and me, whatever happens.”

“Our own side?”

“Our own side.” Crowley gave him a squeeze and then let go. “Come on. Let’s have some breakfast, and then we ought to head out.”

“That sounds perfect.” Aziraphale relaxed, twisting in the mirror to examine himself. Crowley’s body really was quite nice to look at. It would be quite awhile before he realized his collar had shifted from red to tartan, but the underwear he was very clear on. Crowley’s preference of tiny briefs was where he drew the line. He’d changed them to something more appropriate the moment he’d put them on. He cleared his throat and looked away from the mirror, hoping his appraisal hadn’t been too obvious. “What’s for breakfast, then?”

Crowley’s eyes glinted in a way that suggested he hadn’t been fooled. “Well,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and giving a smile that showed all of his teeth, “how would you feel about crepes?”


End file.
